


Then, We Kiss

by menel



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Caring, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, Realization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22342384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: Following separate leads, Daredevil and The Punisher unexpectedly meet at a gathering of the Gnucci and Libris crime families. Their reluctant team-up goes awry when the Libris family unveils a new weapon that targets Daredevil. Matt is injured and it falls on Frank to take care of him.Written for the 2020 Fratt Week Day 1 prompt, 'weapons.'
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 24
Kudos: 185
Collections: Fratt Week





	Then, We Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Some (modified) backstory is taken from Chip Zdarsky's current run of Daredevil and the classic "Welcome Back, Frank" Punisher storyline, but that knowledge isn't necessary to understand the fic.

Matt heard the heartbeat too late. He ruthlessly buried the flash of annoyance that the heartbeat provoked in him. These days, it almost felt like a Pavlovian response. Fortunately for him, he hadn’t experienced said response for several weeks. Tonight, was not his lucky night.

The owner of the heartbeat dropped on the ground beside him. His step was light for a big man, and for someone carrying so much . . . weaponry. Along with the heartbeat came the smell of gun oil and the residue of gun powder and the metallic aftertaste of dried blood. 

“Red.” 

Matt didn’t acknowledge the greeting, though he felt Castle’s proximity acutely. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” 

Matt finally sighed. “And why’s that Castle?” he said, taking the bait. “Because the Gnucci crime family belongs to you?” 

“We got history.” 

“I _know_ about your history.”

Castle chuckled, low and dark. Castle’s deep, gravelly voice reminded Matt of sin, of the forbidden, of why _he_ could never cross that line, even though he had moments of weakness. Some people thought of Frank Castle as an anti-hero. Matt thought that was generous. He didn’t think of himself as a hero either, but there was a difference between justice and vengeance. Castle reminded him of that, too.

“How you wanna do this?” 

“Do what?” 

Matt was playing dumb. It didn’t suit him. Castle wasn’t buying any of it. 

“We’re both here, Red. Might as well do this together.” 

“I don’t work with murderers.”

Matt started at Castle’s laugh, free and easy in a way that he’d never heard before. 

“Sanctimonious prick,” Castle said, but there was a note of teasing in his voice that Matt didn’t like. He’d noticed that about Castle of late, in their rare interactions. Castle still goaded and taunted him, but it was different. It wasn’t as combative or blatantly hostile as before. If Matt had to put a name to it, he’d say that Castle was almost flirting with him, if the idea weren’t so preposterous. Whatever was happening, Matt didn’t like it. 

“How about this?” Castle was saying. “We work together and I won’t mow down these assholes tonight. Leave ‘em for the boys in blue to pick up. That more to yer likin’?

It was, but Matt didn’t say that. At his core, he didn’t trust Frank Castle. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to trust him. He knew that Castle had his own code, as twisted as it was, and that Castle adhered to it. The problem was Castle’s code directly clashed with Matt’s own moral code. Castle wasn’t one to bend rules, and he couldn’t see why the Punisher would bend the rules for him. 

“We got a deal?” 

Matt finally turned his head in Castle’s direction, though the action was more for Castle’s benefit than his own. It gave Castle something to focus on and was a belated acknowledgement of his presence.

“No killing,” he said clearly. “I’ll take the back door.” He stood up, leaving Castle behind before the other man could protest. That didn’t mean he didn’t hear Castle’s response, which was muttered but crystal clear to Matt’s super hearing. 

“You got it, Red.”

* * *

‘Them’ were the Gnucci crime family who, much to Matt’s dismay, had teamed up with the Libris crime family to . . . well, he wasn’t entirely sure and he hadn’t asked for Frank’s intel. In hindsight, it wasn’t surprising that both he and Castle had ended up here tonight. They’d been following different leads, but the crime families’ union had made their meeting inevitable.

Once upon a time, Castle had waged a personal war against the Gnucci family, led by Ma Gnucci. He thought he’d wiped them from existence, but like the rats they were, they’d found their way back. As for Matt, he had his own ties to the Libris family, though they were vastly different from Castle’s experience with the Gnuccis. The Librises had wanted to go legitimate, or at least, part of the family did. That lead to a family war as loyalties were divided. Matt had reluctantly gotten involved because he’d fallen into bed with Mindy Libris, the wife of Tom Libris, the heir to the Libris crime family and the man who wanted to go legitimate. The whole thing had been a mess. Sleeping with a mob boss’s wife hadn’t been one of Matt’s finer moments. But in the end, he’d managed to get Tom, Mindy and their daughter, Belle, out of the Libris family’s clutches and into Witness Protection in exchange for information on Isabella ‘Izzy’ Libris and the family operations. Tom and Mindy were out of Matt’s life now, but like the Gnucci family, the Libris family had also risen from the ashes.

Tonight’s meeting was an arms deal of some sort. Both families had been extensively involved in arms trading and extortion before. Their basic MO hadn’t changed. What was different was that scientists were involved this time. Matt couldn’t speak for the Gnuccis, but he knew that the Libris family was developing something new, some kind of specific high-tech weapon. That worried him because that was _not_ the Libris family’s MO. That seemed to be more Castle’s territory, something that stank of government contractors and military development. It was out of the Libris crime family’s league.

Matt was thinking of this as he approached the back of the lab. From the outside, the building looked nondescript, but the inside was all sterile surfaces and sleek metal. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought the lab belonged to a pharmaceutical company. There were twenty-five people inside. Ten were representatives of the Gnucci family, another ten were representatives of the Libris family, and the last five were scientists and engineers.

Matt soundlessly disabled the two guards who had been posted at the back door. He tracked Castle’s heartbeat as the other man rounded the corner of the hallway and headed for the main entrance. Frank Castle had zero subtlety. Matt entered the lab, his senses rapidly mapping the room. He heard the radio transmitter from one of the unconscious guards behind him. Someone was calling for a check in. If the guard didn’t respond . . .

No sooner had Matt thought that than one of the men broke off from the main group in the center of the room, signaling to another man to join him. The pair began heading in Matt’s direction. Matt halted and crouched low, taking cover behind one of the laboratory tables. He waited for the pair to get near him, before he lashed out with one leg and brought the first man down with a grunt while simultaneously hurling one of his billy clubs at the second guy’s head. The club made hard impact, knocking the second man unconscious before ricocheting back into Matt’s hand. He struck the man at his feet three times, ensuring that he was also out cold. Four men down, twenty-one to go and Castle hadn’t even made his grand entrance yet. 

Matt spoke too soon.

An explosion blasted open the main doors. The gathering at the center of the room broke apart. Gunfire erupted. A few of the men immediately dropped to the ground, cowering. Matt heard their racing heartbeats and knew that these were the scientists, frightened and trying to get out of harm’s way. Two smoke bombs rolled into the room near the destroyed doorway. 

_Great_ , Matt thought, even though he was silently impressed. It looked like Castle would be able to disarm these men without killing them.

The men nearest to the smoke began to cough, their firing interrupted. Castle calmly strode in wearing a gas mask and carrying a shotgun. Matt waited, listened to the first knee-cap being blown to smithereens before he made his own move.

The group had fractured. The security was preoccupied with the threat that they saw at the front of the room, unaware that there was another threat waiting at the back. They protected their masters while the heads of the families made their getaway, the scientists still ducking for cover.

Matt stood up to meet them, blocking their exit. He was focused on the metal briefcase that Michael Libris carried. Whatever was in it was the prize for the night. Michael Libris’s personal bodyguards began shooting. Matt dodged their gunfire, the sound and impact of the bullets lighting up an even clearer map of the room to his radar sense. Using the grappler of one of his billy clubs, Matt wrapped it around the wrist of the nearest attacker, forcing the man to drop his gun. There was the pop of a shoulder dislocating as Matt yanked the grappler forward. The second club, he hurled at the second bodyguard, knocking the man’s weapon out of his hand. Before the bodyguard could reach for his backup handgun, Matt had kicked him in the face.

Michael Libris had moved away from the fight, gripping the metal case tightly. Matt could hear the shouting at the far end of the room, the panicked cries of the men that had to face the Punisher. Castle hadn’t killed anyone . . . yet. Through this noise cut the sound of a voice that Matt didn’t recognize, but one that was much closer to him. 

“Use it!” the voice yelled. “Use it now!”

Matt was preoccupied in hand-to-hand combat with Libris’s second bodyguard. Even disarmed, this man was better trained than most. He’d only managed to knock the man out when he was aware that Libris had opened the metal case. He recognized the familiar shape of a gun being pointed at him, though it was made from different materials. This was the experimental weapon. He dodged out of the line of sight just as Libris fired. 

It didn’t matter. Matt was paralyzed – completely incapacitated – by the blast of sound waves that threatened to burst his eardrums and threw his entire world into chaos. _A sonic weapon!_ his mind reeled. _A sonic weapon! ___

Matt didn’t remember anything else.

* * *

Matt came to under a fog. He was vaguely aware of someone on his right, not by sound, but by the heat of a body against him. Everything was dark. Dark and dull. Muted. He reached out in a panic, his radar sense abandoning him. He had no sense of the room or the outside world. It was terrifying.

A hand caught his arm. It was accompanied by a . . . voice? He wasn’t sure. The sound was badly distorted. Indistinguishable. Muffled, as if the person were speaking to him underwater.

Matt reached out with his other hand to grasp this person’s arm. He was gratified that his sense of touch was still functioning. Touch was processed differently from the faculties of hearing, smell and speech. As his brain processed the warmth of the arm he was holding, the firm muscles, the slightly dry skin, and the fine hair follicles, Matt felt a semblance of calm returning to him. He became aware of his own breathing, even though he couldn’t _hear_ it. He couldn’t even hear the thudding of his own heart. Beside him the person had stilled. He seemed to understand that allowing Matt to grip his arm would have a calming effect. He was right.

There were no more attempts at communication.

Matt wanted to open his mouth to speak, but his throat was rusted shut. Eventually, the other man lowered Matt’s arms onto the . . . bed? Of course, Matt was lying down. They stayed that way, Matt gripping the stranger’s arm; the stranger holding Matt’s arm in return. They stayed that way until Matt fell asleep again.

* * *

When Matt came to a second time, it was because of his sense of smell. His awareness was also better. He felt the coarse cotton of the pillowcase under his cheek, the slightly less coarse cotton fibers of the shirt he was wearing.

Wait.

He was wearing a cotton shirt and cotton pants. His feet were bare. His mask was off. Someone had stripped and changed him. He couldn’t even smell the suit in the room.

What Matt did smell was cooking food. Mouth-watering pork loin cooked in a sweet pineapple sauce. It made him hungry. Matt pulled himself into an upright position, and almost immediately regretted the decision. His sense of equilibrium was shot. _Fuck._ His radar sense was still offline. He must’ve made some noise though, because someone approached him, bringing the tantalizing pork loin closer.

There was a voice that still sounded like it was speaking underwater. Matt couldn’t make out the words, but there were other familiar smells about this person. Gun oil and gun powder residue. No blood, for a change. The person looking after him wasn’t a stranger after all.

It was Frank Castle.

Matt was both relieved and dismayed by the revelation. When he could think more clearly, the dismay would outweigh the relief. He tried to speak again, managing a single word.

“Water,” he rasped.

A glass was pushed into his hand. Matt drank greedily. He savored the cool liquid as it traveled down his throat. He felt parched. The water also had the effect of loosening some of the blockage in his ears. Not a lot, but some. Enough that he could understand Castle when the other man spoke again, but not enough to map the layout of the room or his general surroundings. It was frustrating. He felt his blindness acutely.

“Feel up to eating something?”

The familiarity of Castle’s voice was surprisingly welcome.

“Starving,” Matt croaked, voice still rough from disuse.

He felt the bed dip where Castle placed one of those breakfast-in-bed trays in front of him. It was made of wood and plastic. Matt could tell by the scent. He reached out with his left hand for the foot of the tray where it rested on the bed, running his fingers across the grain of wood, onto the plastic surface of the tray, and down the wooden leg of the other side. He was surprised that Castle would have such an object. It was luxurious, a superficial item that didn’t match Castle’s utilitarian pragmatism.

Whatever he thought about the breakfast tray was soon eclipsed by the smell of the pork loin. It wafted up to him, causing a rumbling response in his stomach. How long had it been since he’d eaten anything? And how did Castle learn to cook pork loin like this? He’d voiced the last thought before realizing it.

“Something I picked up in ‘Nam,” Castle replied.

Vietnam. Frank Castle had prepared a Vietnamese-style pork loin braised in pineapple sauce and served it to Matt on a breakfast tray. What the hell was going on? Matt was about to reach for the utensils when a fork was placed in his right hand.

“Already cut the meat,” Castle was explaining. “Thought it might be easier.” There was a dip in the tray as an additional weight was added. “Water’s on your right.”

Matt narrowed his eyes, his lips forming a thin line of displeasure. It chafed him that Castle assumed (worse, recognized) that he wasn’t at one-hundred percent. Those actions, those details were not things Castle would have done for him otherwise. He abhorred showing any kind of weakness in front of the other man.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and not quite through gritted teeth.

There was a faint shuffling on his right. Matt wished his hearing was up to scratch. Sounds were still coming to him as though his ears were stuffed with cotton. He couldn’t tell what Castle was doing but he could guess. Castle had pulled out a chair and was sitting by his bedside. Dammit. He couldn’t even eat in peace. (Which was very uncharitable of him, given how Castle had essentially prepared a gourmet meal.)

The silence was uncomfortable as Matt ate. He did his best not to devour his meal, which included a cup of rice that had also been cooked in pineapple. Matt was incredibly impressed. When had Frank Castle turned into a chef? Even though Castle was sitting beside him, he didn’t try to make conversation. Matt didn’t try either. Maybe he should’ve devoured his meal after all.

When Matt’s plate was clean, all Castle said was, “Coffee?”

“Vietnamese?” Matt quipped before he could think better of it.

There was a beat before Castle answered.

“Yes.”

Matt was floored. “Sure,” he said. “Sounds . . . great.”

There was that faint shuffling again as Castle stood up. The breakfast tray was removed.

“Ca –” Matt began, then stopped himself. “Frank,” he tried again, the name not rolling off his tongue naturally. The last time he’d called Castle by his given name had been in court. “I need to use your bathroom.”

Another beat.

“Right. ‘Course.”

Matt swung his legs over the side of the bed, the action causing his world to spin a little. That was bad. He felt Castle’s grip on his right arm, ready to help him stand up. Matt took three deep breaths and pushed off the bed. If Castle hadn’t been there, he would’ve fallen over. The small spin from sitting up had turned into full blown vertigo. He fought back the rising nausea. There was no way he was going to hurl Castle’s Vietnamese-style pork loin all over the man in question. He lowered his head in an effort to concentrate, to still the spinning and gain his bearings. Castle held him steady and patiently waited.

When Matt thought he’d regained control of himself, Castle said, “You gonna make it to the bathroom?”

“How far is it?”

“About five feet past the foot of the bed.”

 _Less than fifteen feet_ , Matt thought. Surely, he could make that. The floor below his feet was concrete. Cold.

“Do you have a cane?”

“I’ll get one later.”

There was a long pause.

“I can probably find something for you to piss in,” Castle finally offered.

Matt’s grip on Castle’s arm tightened. “Help me to the bathroom,” he said.

It was slow going, but they made it. At the bathroom door, Castle gave the layout of the small bathroom. “Sink’s on the left. Toilet’s beyond that. Shower’s beyond the toilet. Three paces in and we’ll reach the toilet. Ready?”

Matt nodded.

Three paces in just as Castle had said, Matt was standing in front of the toilet. Castle shifted beside him, and Matt guessed that the other man had lifted the toilet seat.

“Are you going to hold it for me, too?” Matt asked, a little dryly.

“Can you stand up on your own?”

That . . . was unlikely. Apparently, Castle knew this as well because he let out an exasperated sigh. “I ain’t gonna sneak a look, altar boy. Your modesty’s safe with me.”

This was the Castle that drove Matt nuts, but he was in no position to complain. He _needed_ Castle’s help. He pulled down the pajama pants he was wearing, together with the boxers, realizing that Castle had probably already seen his fill. Who else could have stripped, changed and possibly washed him?

Peeing in front of someone else while needing that person’s help was embarrassing; peeing in front of Frank Castle while needing his help was downright humiliating. The ordeal couldn’t end soon enough. Matt shuffled over to the sink to wash his hands when he was done, Castle a continuous warm weight along his side and a supportive grip on his arm. By the time they made it back to the bed, Matt breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t physically tired, and as far as he could tell, he wasn’t wounded either. But not having his radar sense was throwing off his focus; his disorientation was extreme. Staying in one place was manageable. But moving? Fuck

“Still want that coffee?” Castle asked, when Matt was settled again.

“Please.”

Castle drifted away to prepare the coffee. Ten minutes later he was back, the smell of the freshly brewed coffee almost intoxicating.

“Cream or sugar?”

“Neither,” Matt replied. Then he added, “I’ll take condensed milk, if you have it.”

The request was a spur of the moment. Matt didn’t actually expect Castle to have condensed milk, even if that was the traditional way in which Vietnamese coffee was served. But Castle continued to surprise. The steaming mug that Matt was given was perfectly mixed with the right amount of condensed milk.

“You’re a full-service host,” Matt said without any irony. It was undoubtedly the nicest thing he’d said to Castle since he’d woken up. If Matt’s radar sense had been working, he’d have been able to pick up some kind of response from Castle, but all he got was the impression of a solid weight sitting by the side of his bed.

They didn’t say anything after that, and Matt assumed they’d fall into the same uncomfortable silence as the one they’d had during Matt’s meal. (Had Castle already eaten? Matt didn’t even know what time it was. He had absolutely no sense of time.) It was Matt’s total lack of awareness of the outside world that finally prompted him to say:

“How long was I out?”

“Almost forty-eight hours.”

 _Forty-eight hours?_ That was almost two days!

“I need to call –”

“Gave Karen a call,” Castle interrupted. “Told her that you wouldn’t be coming in to work for the rest of the week. Told her not to worry.”

“Did that work?”

“Mostly.”

Matt could almost imagine the shrug accompanying the statement.

“Point is,” Castle went on. “‘m sure she passed the word onto Nelson. Your friends’ll cover for you when they ain’t worryin’ themselves silly.”

“Yeah, I don’t deserve them,” Matt said under his breath. Castle didn’t say anything to that.

“Back at the lab,” Castle began. “You gonna tell me what happened to you?”

Privately, Matt had been about to ask Castle the same thing. There was a gap in his memory from when he’d passed out and when he’d woken up this second time. Some part of him recognized how fortunate he was to be in Castle’s care, even as he chafed against it. He’d been defenseless, unconscious on the laboratory floor. Michael Libris could’ve had him killed, easy. When had Castle come to save the day?

“After you released the smoke bombs – thanks for warning me about that, by the way,” Matt couldn’t help but throw in. “The group at the center of the room split. Neary all of them were focused on you, but Michael Libris took the opportunity to make his escape with two of his bodyguards. I waited for them at the back. The bodyguards weren’t a problem. My target was the metal case that Libris was carrying. It was the centerpiece of the meeting, some kind of experimental weapon.”

“And Libris used it against you,” Castle surmised.

Matt gave him a dark smile. “Not only did Libris use it against me,” he corrected. “It was a weapon designed specifically _for_ me. It was a sonic weapon,” Matt said, his voice low. “A sonic weapon set to a frequency that disabled me.”

“Set to a higher or different frequency, that weapon might even kill you,” Castle went on. “Might cause real, permanent damage.”

“You don’t think it’s caused permanent damage now?”

“You’d be a better judge of that than me,” Castle pointed out. “What’s your assessment?”

Matt considered the question. “I don’t think so,” he eventually said. He’d been through worse. Having a building fall on top of him had been worse. The physical injuries had taken months to heal on top of his (at the time) diminished senses. This time, he was physically fine, save for the regular bruises that came with a fight. No gunshot wounds, no knife wounds. Aside from the sonic weapon, their attack on the Gnucci and Libris crime families had been solid.

But there was still the matter of the sonic weapon and what it implied, though neither Matt nor Castle had voiced those implications yet. If the sonic weapon had been designed specifically for Daredevil, then someone out there knew about Daredevil’s weakness. The list of people who knew Matt’s identity was short; the list of people who knew how his senses worked, even shorter. Who would have that information? Who would betray Matt like that?

“The Librises really have it in for you,” Castle eventually said. “They got a major axe to grind.”

“It’s justified,” Matt admitted. He didn’t know if Castle had followed Daredevil’s (not to mention, Matt Murdock’s personal) entanglement with the Libris family.

“See, Red? If you’d just wiped that family out, there’d be nobody left to carry out their revenge.”

Matt’s anger rose quickly to the surface. “You mean like what you did with the Gnucci family?” he fired back. “How’s that turning out for you?”

Castle chuckled. “Touché, Red,” he agreed. “Touché.”

Matt sighed, the fight leaving him suddenly. “I should go,” he said, realizing the impracticality of the statement as soon as he said it.

“No,” Castle’s voice was firm.

A hand pushed Matt back into the bed, as though anticipating that Matt would try and stand up again (as if Matt could). Matt’s instinctive reaction was to bat Castle’s hand away, but he somehow restrained himself. Castle meant well. He’d demonstrated nothing but good intentions towards Matt since Matt had woken up. There was no need to be rude.

“Heal up here. No reason for you not to.”

“And where is here?”

“One of my places.”

One of Castle’s safe houses. That was all Castle was going to give him.

“Get some rest, Red. You’re safe here. I’ll find out more about that sonic weapon.”

* * *

On the second day, Matt had a better sense of balance and equilibrium. He still couldn’t map the room, but he no longer had vertigo when he stood up. He could go to the bathroom by himself so long as he walked slowly, and Castle had brought him a walking cane. He washed and changed into another set of Castle’s spare clothes. He appreciated that Castle used a non-scented detergent and a fabric softener. (Frank Castle used a _fabric softener_.)

Castle kept him company for nearly all of the second day. Castle wasn’t so much keeping Matt company as he was keeping an eye on him. It felt a little like house arrest. Matt was aware of Castle’s presence, though they hardly spoke or interacted. They kept to themselves, Matt mostly staying in bed or manually mapping parts of Frank’s safe house through touch, specifically, the parts that were nearest to the bed. Frank stayed in what passed for the kitchen, an arsenal laid out on the kitchen table that he methodically cleaned. Castle cooked all their meals, which they ate separately. Matt insisted that he could go to the kitchen table, but Castle merely said, “Tomorrow” and that was that. Castle only went out once in the late afternoon. He was gone for what Matt estimated was about two hours. When he came back, he’d brought pizza for dinner.

The third day was a lot like the second. Matt was discouraged that there didn’t seem to be any improvement in his hearing. Sound still came to him as though it were wrapped in cotton. He had only the fuzziest outlines of objects and space, unable to ‘see’ more than a few feet around his normal 360-degree radius. He relied almost entirely on his sense of touch, which he used to finish exploring Castle’s safe house. His balance and equilibrium remained sketchy, making movement slow. When it came to meals, however, he joined Castle at the table, and unlike the previous day, Castle didn’t object. In the late afternoon, Castle left again. He was gone for longer this time, over three hours by Matt’s estimation. This time, the other man came back with Chinese take-out (Matt’s favorite Szechuan chicken, but Castle couldn’t have known that, right?) and a book in braille. _Crime and Punishment_. Matt bit back a laugh, but couldn’t hold back the grin that crossed his face. He spent the evening lounging on the sofa with Dostoyevsky, while Castle cleaned his guns.

The fourth day broke from their ‘routine.’ Matt woke up to an empty safe house, though it had taken him a while to figure that out. He was slightly disconcerted, but not troubled. He could fend for himself, even if he wasn’t a hundred percent. In fact, Matt was just heading to the bathroom when Castle returned. Freshly baked bread accompanied him, as did the whiff of coffee. (Maybe Matt’s senses were improving, after all.) It was enough for Matt to detour into the kitchen and greet Castle with a “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Frank replied, but he sounded surprised. “Thought you wouldn’t be up yet.”

Matt shrugged, slowly settling himself at the kitchen table. “Are those . . . bagels?” he asked, sounding a little hopeful.

“Senses improving, huh?”

“A little,” Matt replied, trying to keep the discouragement out of his voice.

Frank didn’t say anything else. He took out the bagels from a brown paper bag, together with a tub of cream cheese. Then he stood up and scrambled some eggs.

“Bagels and cream cheese,” Matt said. “Isn’t that a little . . . decadent?"

“It ain’t healthy,” Frank said, which didn’t sound like much of an answer to Matt but he didn’t push. Matt was feeling low, so a little decadence didn’t hurt (and maybe Castle knew that).

They ate in silence, which was the norm for them. But Matt wasn’t oblivious to the way the silence had shifted over the course of three days. It was comfortable now, companionable even. There wasn’t any pressure to talk, to fill up the space between them. The truth was Matt had grown used to Frank’s presence. He found it familiar, easy, and he wondered if Frank felt the same way. That was another thing that had changed. He was starting to think of Castle as ‘Frank.’ Perhaps that was a sign that should’ve worried Matt. Humanizing Frank Castle was a way of reframing him, of reframing Matt’s experience _of_ him and how Matt related _to_ him. It seemed dangerous. But how? Or why? What was the specific danger here? Matt didn't want to dwell on it.

After eating, Frank handed over a duffel bag that Matt chastised himself for not noticing sooner. He chastised himself some more when he realized that the bag belonged to him.

“Brought you some clothes,” Frank said. Matt furrowed his brow, realizing what that meant. Frank must’ve realized too, because he quickly said, “Got them from Karen. She packed the bag.”

 _That made sense_ , Matt thought. Karen had a key to his place. He relaxed.

“What did you tell Karen?”

“Not a lot. Said we were workin’ on somethin’ together.”

“And she believed you?” Matt’s own disbelief could plainly be heard in his tone.

“I don’t lie to Karen, y’know.”

“It’s called a lie of omission, Frank.”

“You mean, what you do?”

It was a testament to how far they’d come in such a short time that Frank’s quick retort didn’t get a rise out of Matt. No tempers flaring, no sudden escalation, no barbed taunts. Just Matt, chuckling, at what he now perceived to be Frank’s sense of humor. (Frank Castle _had_ a sense of humor.)

“Thanks for the clothes,” was all Matt said, picking up the duffel in one hand, his cane in the other and making his way to the bathroom. 

* * *

The breakthrough came on the morning of the fifth day. Matt was in the bathroom brushing his teeth when his lungs gave a mighty heave. He coughed, spitting gunk into the bathroom sink. He felt his sinuses clear, the sudden rush of air and sound a welcome relief. He coughed some more, so loudly and with such force that Frank began knocking on the bathroom door.

“Hey, Red. You okay in there?”

“Fine,” Matt said, in between coughs.

Frank wasn’t convinced. “Open up,” he said.

“Give me a second,” Matt called back.

He placed his hands on either side of the porcelain sink and focused. The world was _alive_ ; he could _hear_ it. He could hear it all. Matt wanted to weep. His radar sense swept across the small bathroom, bringing forth all the details that had eluded Matt for the past four days. He pulled open the bathroom door before he was overwhelmed with joy, and there was Frank as Matt remembered him. He soaked in every detail that made Frank _Frank_. Only four days ago, he would’ve been ‘Castle,’ but now he was undeniably ‘Frank.’

“Red?” Frank said, uncertainly.

Matt stepped forward and, without thinking, placed his right hand flat over Frank’s heart. Frank stiffened a little in surprise, but otherwise didn’t move.

“What’re you doing, Red?” Frank asked softly.

“Listening to your heart,” Matt answered. “I can hear it again.”

“What does it tell you?” Frank’s voice had dropped to a whisper, but Matt could hear him with perfect clarity.

“Same thing it always does,” Matt said. “Steadiness. Certainty. Calm.”

“Is that all?”

A sighted person would’ve looked at Frank’s face, would’ve looked into his eyes and tried to see what could be read there. Matt was not a sighted person, and he focused his senses on other things: Frank’s breathing, his pulse, his scent, his temperature, the pores on his skin. Something was happening. Matt _knew_ something was happening, but he wasn’t sure what it was. He dropped his hand. A sudden thought had seized Matt that Frank might grasp his hand and keep it against his heart, willing Matt to hear, to understand, what Frank couldn’t bring himself to say. Matt wasn’t ready for that.

“My turn to cook breakfast,” Matt said, pushing past the other man.

“Oh, is that how it’s gonna be?”

“I owe you,” Matt went on, listening as Frank followed him into the kitchen, his senses finally able to clearly map the safe house that he’d been staying at for nearly a week.

The safe house was a large studio unit with the door at the far end. When you entered, the kitchen was immediately to the right, the living area beside it. There was no separate space for a bedroom. Instead, there was a divider between the living room and the bed where Matt had been sleeping. It was at that moment that Matt realized there was only one bed in the whole unit, which meant that Frank had been sleeping on the sofa while Matt had been staying with him. This was confirmed by the blanket that had been hastily folded on top of the spare pillow on the sofa. Matt didn’t want to think about the fact that Frank had placed Matt’s comfort before his own. Matt had been injured. It’d been the reasonable, decent thing to do. If their positions had been reversed, Matt would’ve done the same thing . . . right?

“Sit,” Matt instructed, gesturing to the kitchen table.

Frank had been chopping vegetables (capsicum, pepper, mushrooms) and slices of ham when Matt had begun violently coughing in the bathroom. It looked like Frank was preparing an omelet. Matt picked up where Frank had left off. He could feel Frank watching him as he moved about the kitchen with ease. His senses were working harmoniously again, coalescing to form the 360-degree radar sense that shaped Matt’s world.

Matt made a giant omelet that he cut in half. On each plate, he placed two slices of buttered toast and two rashers of thick-cut bacon. Breakfast was capped off with coffee, bitter and black, the way they both liked it.

There wasn’t any small talk between them, as usual. Matt didn’t mind. He was too busy parsing the sounds around him, thankful to hear the endless cacophony that had been absent from his life for four days. If Matt had been paying better attention to his immediate surroundings, instead of the wider world outside, he might’ve noticed that Frank was openly staring at him, the other man’s demeanor a strange mixture of relief and regret.

Before Matt could clear away their dishes at the end of the meal, Frank stood up and handed him something. It was a thin file.

“Here,” Frank said. “I had a friend do a deep dive into the Libris family, learn what they could about that sonic weapon you talked about.”

“You have a _friend_?” Matt teased. (Four days ago, teasing Frank Castle would not have been in Matt’s frame of reference.) “What happened to the lone wolf?”

Frank didn’t take the bait. “I was gonna save this until you were . . . more yerself,” Frank powered on. He paused and Matt heard the hesitation in the sound. He could _hear_ so much now, could _read_ Frank better.

“Listen, Red,” Frank began again. “I know I’m probably the last person you’d take any advice from but give it a couple of days, okay? Before you go out on the streets again? Make sure everything’s . . . good. You look good _now_. I can see the change in you, plain as day. But . . . hold off on the crime fightin’ for a bit. You should be a hundred percent when you’re out there, and that intel ain’t going anywhere. The Libris family will still be waitin’ for you when you decide to take them on.”

It was the most Frank had spoken to him in four days. And he was right. There was a time when Matt wouldn’t have taken any advice from the _Punisher_ , but now he knew Frank differently. There was real concern there and it touched him. Who knew that Frank would care so much? That Frank would care at all?

__Matt nodded slowly. “Okay,” he agreed. “You’re right. My first instinct would be to rush back out there, but . . .” he trailed off. “I can give it a few days. That makes sense. You sound like Karen and Foggy,” he added._ _

Frank chuckled. “Yeah, well. Your friends want what’s best for you.”

Matt almost made a flippant remark like, ‘Does that make you my friend now, too?’ He realized that the answer was probably ‘yes,’ but wasn’t entirely sure if he’d be comfortable hearing Frank say that, or how he’d feel if Frank said ‘no,’ so it was best not to say anything at all. What Matt _was_ certain of was that their relationship had fundamentally changed, that it was still . . . changing. Evolving. Growing. What it was changing into or how that change would end? Those were the million-dollar questions.

“Your red pajamas –”

“– are in the closet on the right next to the bathroom,” Matt finished. “I can smell the suit.”

“Show-off.”

Matt grinned.

* * *

Matt got back to his place later that afternoon. He refused to let Frank give him a ride, even though Frank knew where he lived. They argued about it because Frank didn’t want him parkouring through the city in broad daylight. (That also made sense.) So, they compromised by Matt borrowing money for cab fare, which in itself was kinda hilarious.

His apartment was as he left it – not immaculately ordered, but not a pigsty either. There were about a dozen messages on his answering machine. Eight of them were from Karen and Foggy. There were even more messages in his cell phone. He’d have to give those two a ring. Staying with Frank should’ve given him enough time to think of what to say to his two closest friends – his _family_ – but he’d been wallowing in his depression for days.

It was Sunday. He called Karen and Foggy first, placating each of them separately, and promising them the full story at work the following day. Afterwards, he crawled into the comfort of his own bed. He’d missed his silk sheets.

Later, when he was making dinner for himself (he already missed Frank’s cooking), he remembered the file that Frank had given him on the Libris family. He opened it while eating and was floored to discover that the text was in Braille. The report was short but concise. It outlined the capabilities of the sonic weapon, the specs, and the scientists and engineers who had helped build and design it. Though the name ‘Daredevil’ wasn’t mentioned once in the report, reading it made Matt’s skin crawl. This was a weapon designed specifically to hurt him, though it would have other beneficial applications. Matt still didn’t know the Gnucci family’s role in all this or why that family had formed an alliance with the Libris family. If Frank had that information, he was keeping it to himself, probably believing that the Gnuccis belonged to him. Given Frank’s history with them, and his fledgling relationship with Matt, Matt found that he was willing to let that go.

When Matt turned up to work on Monday like nothing had happened, both Karen and Foggy ripped into him. Matt endured the rebuke because he was fine, really fine. He didn’t even have the usual cuts and bruises that signified a tough night on the streets. He hesitated before telling them about the sonic weapon over lunch.

“A sonic weapon,” Foggy had repeated, aghast. “But that means somebody out there knows your weakness and they’re exploiting it.”

Matt nodded. The thought did disturb him. Mindy’s name flitted through his mind, but no matter how things ended between them, she wouldn’t betray him. Tom, on the other hand . . .

* * *

Matt didn’t go on patrol on Monday night. Instead, he treated Foggy and Karen to dinner and drinks. He owed them after the grief he’d caused them (again, and would keep causing them in the future). He didn’t go on patrol on Tuesday night either. Instead, he went to Fogwell’s and did some training. He had to see how his body and reflexes responded since his radar sense had been restored. Wednesday followed the same routine – more training at Fogwell’s. Things were going well. Matt felt good. Ready. It’d been three days. That would satisfy Frank.

On Thursday evening, Matt suited up. Exiting through the roof access of his apartment, he found a package waiting for him beside the roof access door. He picked it up and the accompanying note that had been attached. In bold, block writing that was easy to understand through touch, Matt read: “Your secret’s safe. FC” Matt opened the package, already knowing what he would find judging by the size and the weight. He was right. The Libris family’s prototype handheld sonic weapon was smooth and sleek under his touch. Matt sealed the metal case. His plans for the night had changed.

Matt ended up going on his regular patrol instead of paying a visit to the Libris family headquarters. Being on the streets again was liberating. Was his life so messed up that he felt most alive when he was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen? The answer would always be ‘yes.’

The patrol ended somewhere unexpected, but perhaps not so unexpected after the special delivery package had arrived on his roof. Matt broke into Frank’s safe house at around 1:00am. He was making coffee when Frank strolled in at 1:16am. Frank wasn’t surprised to see Matt in his kitchen, moving about like he owned the place. Instead, Frank headed straight for the coffee maker, pouring himself a mugful as Matt took his usual seat at the table. Frank joined him, and they enjoyed their coffee in their now comfortable silence.

When Matt was two-thirds of the way through his coffee, he said, “This isn’t a safe house, is it?”

Frank shook his head. “Nope,” he replied.

Matt nodded thoughtfully. In a more serious tone, he asked, “Did you kill them?”

There was a long pause. Matt didn’t need to explain who ‘them’ referred to.

“No,” Frank finally said. “Figured you wouldn’t want that.”

Matt nodded again. That was all he needed to know. He realized, with little fanfare or surprise, that he trusted Frank now. If Frank said that his secret was safe, then his secret was safe. He finished the last of his coffee and stood up. He could feel Frank watching him. How often had Frank watched him with the same kind of intensity and Matt had been too disoriented, too out-of-touch with his surroundings to notice? Matt held out a gloved hand. It seemed an age before Frank responded, allowing Matt to pull him up.

“Let’s go,” Matt said.

“Where to?”

“Outside. Your building has a nice roof.”

“Is that an important detail to you?”

“With how much time I spend on roof tops? Absolutely.”

“There are stairs to the rooftop, Red,” Frank said, when he saw that Matt was leading them to the window.

“We _are_ taking the stairs,” Matt replied. “Just a different set.” Of course, Matt was referring to the fire escape. “How would it look?” he added. “If your neighbors saw you walking in the hallway or up the stairwell with Daredevil?”

“Probably badass.”

Matt laughed.

Frank’s unit was on the sixth floor of a ten-story building, so it wasn’t a long climb. Matt settled on the roof’s ledge, not too far from the fire escape and Frank settled down beside him. The position wasn’t precarious – not for men of their skill – but it would’ve given others pause.

“What do you like about this roof?” Frank eventually asked.

“Location,” Matt answered right away. “Wind currents. Good grips on the building. Good acoustics. Cleanliness.”

“And here I thought it was the view.”

“Did you just make a _blind_ joke?” Matt said, slightly appalled but unable to stop himself from laughing.

“You’re the one laughing,” Frank pointed out.

Matt nodded. Things were so different between them, and yet . . .

“You know I’ll never be able to condone what you do, right?” Matt said softly. “Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate what you did with the Libris family. _A lot_. But I get the sense that was . . . a one-time deal.”

“It was,” Frank confirmed.

Matt nodded again. “We’re very different people, Frank,” he said, marveling at how easily Frank’s name came to him now.

“Not so different as you may think,” Frank challenged. “Not in the ways that really matter.”

“Our moral codes and personal philosophies don’t matter?”

There was a loud sigh of exasperation. “I’m sayin’ that there’s _more_ to us than our moral codes and philosophies. Or don’t you realize that?”

Matt was starting to realize that Frank had given this a lot more thought than he had.

“There are other ways we could . . . if you were open to that . . . other things we could do instead of fightin’ all the time.”

Matt remained still, but his senses were picking apart the man beside him. Frank’s heart rate was ever so slightly elevated, and there was a fine line of tension through his body. It was taking a lot for Frank to say this.

“Compartmentalize,” Matt finally said. “You think we could just keep the vigilante part of our lives separate.”

Frank shrugged. “I dunno,” he admitted. “Haven’t thought about specifics.”

“But you _have_ thought about it?”

Frank’s silence was a deafening answer. It gave Matt pause. It made him realize how little he knew of Frank or understood him. He’d thought that Frank didn’t care about those things anymore – companionship or dating or romantic involvements. How could he when he’d become the Punisher? Didn’t being the Punisher mean that Frank had had to cut himself off from personal ties? That he lived an isolated life, one in which being alone was a necessary condition in order to be able to do the things that he did?

It had never occurred to Matt that Frank might be lonely. (Because there was a vast difference between being _alone_ and being _lonely_.) Matt assumed that Frank was the former, but maybe . . . sometimes . . . he was also the latter. It was a revelation to think that at his core, Frank was still _human_. This was what Karen saw in him.

Their hands were less than a finger’s breadth from each other on the ledge. Without really thinking, Matt reached over and grasped Frank’s hand. His grip was returned instantly. _There was something here_ , Matt thought. He didn’t know what it was, but there was something here. And it was worth exploring. He squeezed Frank’s hand once before releasing it and standing up on the ledge. He looked down at the other man so that his voice would carry clearly when he said:

“Dinner. My place. Tomorrow night. Say, seven? You can decide the menu. Haven’t had a chance to buy groceries, so whatever you want to make, you better bring it over. I’ll be home by six.”

Frank was chuckling. “Just like that?” he questioned.

“Why not?”

“See you at six.”

Matt nodded in agreement before turning away and jogging down the ledge. Halfway down, he pulled out his grappler and hooked it to another building. As he leaped, swinging himself to the other side, Frank’s voice carried over to him.

“Show-off.”

Matt smiled to himself, wondering what dinner would bring.

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Everything belongs to Marvel and Netflix. No infringement is intended; no profit is being made.


End file.
